


I Found You

by ValDeCastille



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Canon Compliant, F/M, but mostly Modern AU, not for Talisa fans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-08-17 01:43:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16506893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ValDeCastille/pseuds/ValDeCastille
Summary: The Rose and the Wolf were not meant to meet right then, but that didn't mean they were not fated to be together.





	I Found You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [toaquiprashippar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/toaquiprashippar/gifts).



> Helloooooo!!!  
> First of all, this one shot is a gift for one of the most beautiful souls to have ever walked this planet; Ms Mim. Surprise!!! (Hope it's a good one lol) HAPPY BDAY, GORGEOUS!!!!!! I may be on the other side of the world but I was not going to forget your birthday!!! I hope with all my heart this story is to your liking. Thank you for loving Robb and Margaery as much as I do but, most importantly, thank you so much for being there all this time, supporting me and loving me. You're the best!!! Love you the heavens and back!
> 
> Now, this one shot could not have been possible without the help of three people. Funny, none of them is a hard-core Robbaery fan, but I think I'm turning them by the day.
> 
> Alice. As always, my dear, thank you for the support and for listening to my whinging everyday. Your encouragement and points of view make my writing so much better. Also, thank you so much for providing the mood board! It is delicious. Love you tons!
> 
> Shawn. Omg, you helped soooo much! Whenever I was stuck you told me to breathe and suggested ideas. You know what this one shot means to me and you know how much you mean to me. I fucking love you.
> 
> Dino. You are a gift from the old gods and the new and I can't thank you enough for all the time you dedicated to beta this one shot. You made it soooooo amazing with your insight and knowledge I can't even. I'm so glad to have you around. You are awesome!
> 
> Ok. Enough words. I hope you, fellow Robbaery fan, enjoy this little piece about our favourite wolf and rose.

 

_The gods decide not to give them a chance. The rose and the wolf were not meant to find each other before the world changed; before they confronted the fate that had already been set for them. This does not mean they are not destined, for not even the gods have control over that._

“I hear nothing but praise for this _Lady Margaery_. Is it truly possible for a woman to be comely as well as clever?” The King in the North asks incredulously to no one in particular as his bannermen boisterously parrot and laugh at such ludicrous thought.

“Comely, most certainly, Your Grace. But clever… what woman truly is?” The Greatjon states with that deep husky voice of his, provoking only supporting reactions from the rest of the Northern army.

His men, like children, enjoy having Lady Margaery’s name to use for the rest of their jests at dinner. What captivates the Great King in the North is Grey Wind’s miffed response. The large wolf seems annoyed suddenly, baring his teeth and growling at the many jesters who clown and parade, tarnishing the name of the Lady.

In turn to his nosey observations, the young king finds blatant irritation in his mother’s gaze, and he wonders what her opinion on the Rose of Highgarden is to spur such a reaction within her Tully eyes. He does what needs to be done, granting himself an audience with the Queen Mother, but he does so in a moment of privacy, allowing his men leave before directing his queries to his Lady Mother.

Her response is simple, though fiery and upsetting it may be to his ears. “Men are brutes.”

Robb finds comedy in his mother’s words and chuckles as he gives her his undivided attention, “We are, however, it is not often you give such triviality much importance, Mother. Why did the Greatjon’s words anger you? Do you think so highly of the Lady?”

Catelyn Stark’s features soften some though her blue gaze hides a spark of that witty personality that often made women most dangerous. “I am told she is more impressive than her grandmother was in her youth and just as cunning. Lady Olenna Tyrell was a true beauty, Son, and her cunning is admired throughout the realm. With guidance such as her grandmother by her side, the Lady Margaery is surely the most desirable woman in Westeros, and whoever she weds will certainly be a fortunate man.” Grey Wind moves to sit next to her as if supporting her proclamation.

His mother’s words both surprise and fascinate the young king for it is not often Catelyn Stark speaks with such fervour...  for anyone, let alone for someone she has not met herself. Perhaps the stories that circulate about the young Lady Tyrell carry truth, perhaps she is as good as everybody claims her to be for he doubts his Lady Mother would purposelessly defend someone in light of gossip. It is not like his mother to give much thought to hearsay nor words spoken in vain.

Lady Stark tries her best to hide the smirk that threatens to shape her lips. She can tell her candid words have taken root within her son’s mind, yet she deters from overconfident arguments and a shimmering boldness to obscure her true intentions. Robb needs allies, and the Tyrells can be the support that would bring them to victory. Working side by side, with the North’s immense kingdom and the Reach’s power and wealth, they would be unstoppable. They would surely succeed in their conquest.

The roses can help the wolves win the war, of that she is certain.

“It seems you have taken a shine to her already,” Robb remarks after hearing the passion in his mother’s words.

Catelyn suppresses a smile, “It seems _you_ have taken a shine to her already, inquiring about her and her deeds.”

“Nonsense, Mother. I have only grown to understand the sensitivity of the matter. I understand that father would not appreciate such behaviour, as I do not appreciate my men tarnishing a Lady’s name. I will make sure no one speaks ill of her ever again,” Robb states firmly. “The Lady deserves our respect.”

From then on, every time one of Robb’s men so much as voices Lady Margaery’s name, Grey Wind is prompt to take action on his own accord. The men learn soon enough not to summon the large direwolf by the speech of her name.

**************

The days pass as Robb continues with his quest for justice and liberation of the North; to unbind it from the chains that wish to hold it and make it yield before kings it doesn’t know and doesn’t care for. As time goes by, however, his restlessness grows, the reason for it unbeknownst to him. Something-- in all simplicity-- is _missing_ ; the absence leaves an uncomfortable hollow that punctures his lungs every time he takes a breath.

When his army struggles and his men suffer his thoughts go back to the golden rose of Highgarden. The beauty promised by the words of thousands can only be an asset to cherish in the heat of the marriage bed yet, his sleepless nights hold another reason responsible. It is the great number of arms in battle that she can bring to his fold that consumes his mind, leaving him thirsty for the sweet dose of sleep. If he can get all the power and might of the Reach to support his cause, then his men would not strive as much, and his army would not decrease in size by the day.

Finishing a glass of sweet wine, he chides himself. It is futile to try and come up with excuses for himself. After his mother’s words, and all the stories he has heard he cannot spend one moment without thinking about the noble Lady of Highgarden. It is the outstanding beauty he has been promised by many, and his eagerness to become a witness of her wit and enthralling sweetness that truthfully keep him up every night.

That time never comes to pass.

**************

News arrives of the marriage between the golden rose of Highgarden and the young Baratheon stag. The proclaimed true king of Westeros; Renly Baratheon. Robb’s stomach churns, his heart pounds ferociously and in a manner not felt by him before. He has not once been in her presence, yet his body aches and yearns for the slightest knowledge of her, for the drive he’s heard she possesses. This makes his sleep restless, and his nights bleed into the sunrise of morning without even the slightest comfort.

“Renly is a lucky man,” Lady Stark remarks wistfully.

“Indeed,” Robb responds hastily; his mind betraying his confidence in allowing the spill of truest thought to escape his lips in the form of an affirmation.

Lady Stark gazes at him with intrigue but otherwise remains silent and pensive. The war has taken a toll on both of them, and she knows that overwhelming Robb with questions does not help him at all.

Spending so much time with her eldest, Catelyn has come to understand him better. Right now, she knows that-- in a bizarre manner that she cannot entirely fathom-- Robb is moved, at odds with his inner turmoil brought about by the union of the blossomed rose and the estranged Baratheon stag, and this pains her.

 _It is too late for anything._ Robb reasons he spent too much time daydreaming and hypothesizing over a now fruitless alliance. He has given a step back in the game, losing a valuable ally that could have tipped the scale in their favour. A tiny voice inside his mind implores the reason for his sorrow, scolding his useless melancholy as it reminds him, that in truth, he never intended to pursue such an alliance. He never intended to seek her out or voiced his considerations for the alliance to anyone; ever. What then did he expect would happen?

**************

He imagines her one night, after the adrenaline of battle has rendered him useless, pushing him to the other side of madness, to the soft and gentle arms of unconsciousness; he can see her, the curly brown hair and eyes of sparkling olive. Robb doesn’t truly know her, but the fabricated image that plagues his mind is nothing if not enticing. Encouraging him never to yield, but to thrive as wild roses do, even when surrounded by poisonous weed. Her distinct presence within his dreams is a balm to his wounds.

He then wonders if, in another life, he could have met the rose and carried her with him up North, despite what his bannermen said about a southern girl ruling as Lady of Winterfell and Queen in the North. Oh, the pleasure of witnessing a summer girl affront the harsh winter with success, of proving to every soul that a rose can bloom among a field of shimmering snow.

Time does not stop, and it continues to go on without regret.

**************

Robb sees her then; the gold-skinned beauty appears before him, surrounded by the blood he has ordered to spill over lands further south than he’d ever imagined travelling. Discomfort, pain, and a malevolent sun that emits a scorching heat that seems to melt the skin from his bones drive him to a yearning; the yearning to run back North to the comfort of Winterfell’s chilled stone walls and the pleasant feeling of soft snow melting between the warmth of his fingers. The sight of her is welcomed, though it is her kindness that is cause for rejoice amongst the agitated camp full of cries and tears. Her hands work diligently on the men who ail and whimper, and her voice is as sweet as a maiden’s favourite song.

She introduces herself with confidence and the demeanour of a true highborn lady. “Talisa Maegyr, Your Grace.” Dark pools of endless black eyes find sky blue ones and time seems to stop for a moment. Grey Wind’s growls interrupt the spellbound moment, seemingly irritated at the beautiful woman of tan skin; Robb throws a glare at his companion, silencing him completely.

It dawns on Catelyn Stark right away that the Young Wolf has been captivated by the exotic foreigner and, despite her fruitless efforts, she cannot help feel somewhat troubled by this fact.

Catelyn knows that what her son needed was for the young Lady Tyrell to stand at his side; a bright Westerosi lady who would have helped her pup win the game of thrones, and fill the dreary North with fruits, grain, wine and plenty more of the abundance the Reach was known for. Nothing a foreigner-- as sweet and lovely as she-- could ever dream bestowing upon her son.

**************

“I love her, Mother.” Robb tells Catelyn one night, a fervent passion entwining his vocals as he speaks his romance.

 _Passion;_  that is all it is, and it is what she fears most. It is no true love, only an inflated passion with an air of exquisite importance, making itself seem as if the blooms of first love.

“You have given your word to Lord Frey. You ought to keep your promise, Robb.” Changing a Frey girl for a Tyrell was one thing, but changing her for a woman with no ties to this land was another.

“I will marry Talisa,” he declares with certainty, though his body becomes tense, his fists clench.

Catelyn sighs heavily as she paces inside the large tent. “If you had to fall into a woman's arms, my son, why couldn't they have been Margaery Tyrell's?” She regrets her words as soon as she voices them for they won’t do any good, however, she knows she is in the right. Wedding a woman like Margaery Tyrell would have been the best choice Robb could have ever made.

She regrets her words even more when she witnesses the deep frown over Robb’s features, deep lines of regret over his forehead, and the hurt in his eyes break her heart. Grey Wind is at her side, sniffing at her feet only to stand tall, concurring in her statement. _Even he would have liked to have known her smell, I believe._

Robb Stark quickly gathers himself, not allowing his mother’s words to affect him, even though, deep down, he knows his mother speaks truthfully. Nevertheless what he feels for Talisa is genuine, love or not, and he doesn’t regret any of the decisions he has made; to this day. “I _love_ her,” he insists, as if love was ever enough to salvage anything.

The innocence in his eyes melts Lady Stark’s resolve and she knows her son speaks honestly. He _feels_ something for this woman.

She nods and surrenders to the inevitability of their union. It is impossible to change her son’s mind when he is dead set on the absurdity, so she supports him in whatever he decides, and prays that his thoughtless choices will not bring about dire consequences. “Alright,” she says, unable to continue with such conversation; her mind and heart cannot take it any longer.

**************

He is filled with such joy, such happiness and Talisa is indescribable; filling him with such warmth. A butterfly trapped within the confines of his belly, fluttering wings tickling his insides every time he sees her, and a juvenile flush colours his cheeks like the slap of cold over his skin. He never thought he could be so content in times like these; times so full of dread, despair, and misery.

The news she brings leave him without words. speechless he is when she entrusts her secret to him; she is with child. Robb never thought of that possibility before, assuming the war would take him sooner than he could plant his seed within any woman, but excitement grips him by the strings of his heart as the thought of a babe, squirming within his arms, blooms in his mind. He can picture a chubby little babe, hair in waves of curly brown with wonderful green eyes, and his heart seems to stop for a few seconds.

He gulps, feeling his throat go dry at the rush of sorrow that invades his chest, but he pushes it all down; he should not be feeling such things. Robb smiles at his woman, harbouring a cloud of contempt as he studies her dark eyes and black hair. The North will have a queen soon; a queen and an heir, and for that, he must be joyful.

**************

Lord Frey was not a man one would want to keep for a foe, or someone to cross, Robb learns too late. His mother had warned him, and he, like a spoilt child had not given her advice importance. His world crumbles like a pile of ash within both his hands as he witnesses the butcher of those he loves most, their lives snatched by Freys and Lannisters. His wolf, his mother, his wife, his unborn child.

A thought crosses his mind then, in the midst of the bloodshed. If he had married a certain rose, mayhaps his life would have taken a different direction, mayhaps the North would have succeeded without much strife. The Reach was sturdy and mighty, arms of power that would have shielded his men, and there would have been nothing a traitorous weasel could have done against their united prowess.

Everything is a blur of hurt and turmoil, there is so much pain around him, within him, and for the first time since he left Winterfell, Robb Stark regrets his greeness. He was a stupid boy, naive, allowing the thorns of passion to hook on his flesh and envelop him with sweetness. He failed his people and he failed himself for a single, stupid mistake.

_The gods can only witness the events before them with pain. Robb deserved better and so did Margaery-- married to a man who did not care for her as a husband should, and for the next two that followed, two boys that would make her queen of ashes and smoke._

_It will get better, they thought as a way to console themselves._

Golden roses blooming between the snow, curly brown hair and mischievous eyes are the last impressions that engulf the Young Wolf before falling to the ground in defeat.

_Margaery._

 

* * *

 

Robb takes a shattered breath, trying to calm the tremors that plague his body. The pain that clutches his heart has to be suppressed for he must stand firm and strong for his family. He cannot lie around, wallowing in his sadness; contemplating a deep depression while his family collapses in despair. He has to go on, and do what’s best for his mum and siblings.

When he reached the office-- his office-- he can only stare at the golden plate that carves his name. Robb feels the pull to cave in and allow the melancholy to grip him whole; it was his late father’s office. The man’s things have yet to be removed, and they sing their song of joyous memories within the framed photographs he kept at his desk. The trophies of his children still decorate the walls, all handmade and imperfect, but he’d hung them anyway. Every single little thing reminds Robb of his father, of Eddard Stark and Robb can’t believe he’d been able to survive life without his father for the past six months. Though, he dies inside with every passing day. Life will never be the same without Eddard Stark at his side.

Eddard Stark was a kind man, but his kind-hearted nature allowed much of Stark Corp.’s revenue and profit to go to charities and aid his employees’ families. Robb loves his father, and admires him, but his well-intentioned deeds have put him and his family (along with thousands of employees) in a very precarious position. The debts are almost unbearable. Stark Corp. is in bad shape and heading for bankruptcy.

Robb has to take matters into his own hands, do something about it, but what? He has yet to figure that out.

“I heard Willas and Margaery Tyrell are visiting the Eyrie next month,” Catelyn Stark remarks over dinner.

“Tyrell? As in Tyrell Enterprises?” Robb asks incredulously.

“Would it be of any worth mentioning any other Tyrell?” Catelyn states with frustration. The woman knows of the Tyrell’s wealth, and she knows of their growing interest to invest in the northmost regions. This is Robb's chance to strike a good deal and push Stark Corp. to unfathomable heights.

“Well, what about them?”

Catelyn questions her son’s ability to aid their business in its growth, and wonders over Robb’s innovative ideas that would successfully place them at the top. Sometimes-- most of the times-- Robb seems to go off into his own world, seemingly too detached for his own good. “I believe it would be a nice business opportunity, to offer them part of Stark Corp.’s shares.”

Robb tenses, staring at his mother in disbelief, “Surely you joke, Mother. I cannot think why you would consider offering them a part of our company.”

“Their business thrives, Robb, ours does not. If we want to save Stark Corp. we are going to need investors. The Tyrells have the wealth, the drive, and the want to invest in the North, therefore the best choice. Unless you want to ask Tywin Lannister for help?”

Robb contains the animosity that threatens to glaze over his eyes as he stares at his mother, seemingly discontented. Lannister Inc. is one of their toughest competitors, _Toughest yes, but they cheat, and they are known for not playing fair._ Much of their businesses is threading on illegal, and they conduct themselves with poor work ethic. Not to mention the single time Ned Stark trusted the Lannisters it almost landed him in jail, and for that Robb wants nothing to do with those Westermen.

It almost pains Robb to admit, but his mother-- with her keen eye for business-- has a point. Stark Corp. will sink to the bottom of their debts without new investments, so they will need investors not to let that happen. Robb is not keen on the idea, but this is not a time to let his pride get the better or him. Thus, he decides to make this trip to the Vale, to meet these southerners his mother seems so keen on discussing with him.

**************

The week passes by as if in a rushed hurry, the day is Thursday night, and Robb cannot wait for Friday. In celebration of the upcoming weekend, as well as the fatigue that basks in the marrow of his bones; the young man decides on one or two beers-- most likely more than four-- after work. He needs a break from the constant anxiety that invades him every time he looks over the human-tall piles of changes required in order to aid Stark Corp. and place it, once again, as a strategic competitor in the country, and make it a  profitable business.

Robb is at the bar, taking a few large sips from the lip of his beer, allowing the alcohol to bubble within his cheeks before swallowing the bitter fluid. He hadn't noticed the nice brunette a few seats away having a gin and tonic by the counter, and her beauty is more than welcomed to the corner of his eye. _How long has it been since you last got laid?_ He quizzes himself with a pinching to his eyebrows. Apparently, very long since the apparent details have completely escaped his mind.

“Robb,” he introduces himself with a handsome smile and welcoming hand for her to take as he leans over the counter.

She smiles, giggling with an attractive shyness as she takes his hand; “Talisa,” the brunette replies with a slight bust of confidence. She stares at him with the deep pools of black she carries for eyes and long straight hair that spills down her back. The woman is Volantene, or so she says, and she has just arrived North as a volunteer with a group of nurses.

 _Amazing_ , Robb can only think to describe the beautiful, funny and so very smart woman that sits before him. It has been a long while since he spent quality time with a woman, and actually enjoy their liaisons as well as their informal conversations.

They spend time together, enjoying the occasional date-night, though she makes clear to him that she is not looking for a fling, and for some reason this idea appeals to Robb in a way he had not expected. He can see a boastful future at her side, joyous and calm; he cannot help the smile that forms over the plush flesh of his lips.

_Somewhere not far away the gods are worried. They hadn’t predicted the pair’s meeting once again, not in this life, let alone fall in deep love with a horrid fate._

_Perhaps Robb and Margaery will have to wait a while longer until another breath of life ties their love taut, and finally lay rest to the anxious souls that cannot wait to come together._

**************

“You have only met her, what, five times?” Catelyn asks, appalled by her son’s absurd words of love and praise for a woman he’d only met a handful of times.

“Time means nothing when you meet the right one, mother.” He cannot comprehend his mother’s opposition to the union of two people in love. Talisa is an amazing woman; his mother had said so herself when he’d introduced them.

“I don’t believe that you are thinking clearly at the moment, my son. Perhaps this has to do more with your lack of involvement with other women. Robb, please do not allow lust to decide your future.”

“Mother!” he chides, appalled at her insinuation.

“No, you will not, _Mother,_ me! You cannot be serious about marrying this woman. If this is about sex, I’m sure there are many gorgeous women out there who would just love to share your bed without a pledge of commitment.”

Robb couldn’t believe he was actually talking about his sex life with his mother. “It’s not about _that_ , mother.” It pained him to even say the “s” word as he has a heated discussion with her. “It’s not about the...sex. I don’t want a one-night stand.”

“My darling,” she changes her tactic as her crude words did not seem to make their desired impact, “you romanticize a hefty lot. Do not allow passion to cloud your judgement,” Catelyn replies condescendingly.

 _What is wrong with being a romantic?_ Robb queries. The young man truly believed his mother would support him on the issue. It is a big step to take in his life, but he is certain that it this was the best course to take. He feels content with the young woman at his side, happy. And, is this not something a mother wished?

Catelyn is determined to rid such naivety from his son’s mind. He is a grown man and should be able to distinct a false sense of happiness brought on by leaking endorphins from true commitment, peace. Love is a fairytale told to young boys and girls to learn how to dream, but Robb doesn't need love. Her son requires a woman who he can respect and show respect, who he can converse about the most difficult topics. A woman who will not be afraid to put him in the right when he is wrong and will make him comprehend why. No, Robb cannot marry a woman he has only known for a few weeks. It is ludicrous, and most certainly inconvenient. This woman appears when her son should focus on his career, focus on his goal of restoring Stark Corp. He has yet to meet up with the Tyrells to speak business, and bring their dream of elevating their company to fruition.

Catelyn hoped her son would find a woman to the young Tyrell’s likeness; strong, independent, driven. Someone who would challenge her son’s narrowness to see the heights he could reach. Plus, it didn’t hurt that the woman was agreeable. Both Sansa and she have been looking up pictures of her, and they agree; she compliments her son perfectly.

“Robb, look, you’re old enough to know what to do with your life but, please, before making this big decision, go to the Vale to meet with the Tyrells. Make sure Stark Corp. is stable before jumping into another strenuous situation. Both issues may collide and bring you great misfortune, my son. When you have settled that, and allowed space to think about this… about marrying this girl, your head will be clear and your decisions will show you to be the man I know and trust you to be.”

Robb is as certain as he will ever be on this matter, and he knows he won’t change his mind about marrying Talisa. He chooses to please his mother anyway and travel to the Vale before due time.

_The gods breath easily again. He will meet Margaery._

**************

“Miss Margaery will be right with you, Sir.” The secretary-- of a modelish type physique and a too tight bun at the top of her head that gives Robb a migraine by simply glancing at her mature facelift-- tells Robb when he arrives at the Tyrell Enterprises offices in Eyrie City.

That little installment of information makes his hands sweaty, and he can’t understand why. He guesses the reasoning being the sudden annulment for the already planned meeting between Willas Tyrell and himself; as that was their arrangement. So why is it that Miss Tyrell is the only one available to speak with him? Was this their way of gently turning him down? Make him believe he hadn’t wasted his time while he could be out there, looking for people truly willing to invest in his company?

A message from Talisa takes him out of his thoughts, and a gentle smile crosses his face as he stares at the message bubble on the screen.

“Well, isn’t that a dazzling smile?” a feminine voice reels his attention but it’s that hint of cheeky flirtation that unnerves him. Robb is not particularly fond of coquettish females, believing their bold and brazen mannerism of flirtatious assault can grant them the world on a silver platter, and assuming that any man is idiotic enough to commit to that whipped life.

Robb looks up from the enthralling screen to meet the owner of the enchanting voice, the one audacious female and give her a piece of his mind for the inappropriate behaviour in the workplace.  

“Well--” He stops in his tracks, his heart taking a leap that assaults the back of his teeth. He cannot fathom continuing with his train of thought as he meets the gorgeous brown-haired woman with enticing curves and playful green eyes that stares at him in a way that speaks a certainty of the knowledge she holds over his deepest secrets.

He stands in a rush, clumsily and unaesthetic to the eyes, and he is still unable to utter a single consonant as the woman arches one of her perfectly bowed brows. “Robb Stark, I assume,” she says, her playful tone gone.

“Aye,” Robb manages to utter the single syllable.

The woman’s forehead creases in a muted amusement that only manages to make his hands sweat a whole lot more. Robb finds the grievous scowl to be not far from the most adorable facial expression he has ever seen, and she titters, rupturing the severity that consumes them both. “So Northern.” And he hopes she doesn’t mean it in a negative light.

She struts past him, red-bottom heels clicking on pristine white tile to lead way into an extravagant office. Robb is left to stand there, dumbfounded; he couldn’t move past her slightly-- he hoped-- mocking remark. Was she insulting him? If her words did, in fact, hold insult to his northern burr, or mannerism of conduct, he would hold it against her for she hadn’t introduced herself which leads him to concur on Tyrell Enterprises’ poor courtesy policy. _And why would he want to work with a lowly mannered company?_

Robb can feel the secretary’s eyes on the side of his face, looking at him through a pair of thick glass saucers. He turns his attention to her ogle, never expecting the words that leave the petite pucker of her mouth, “You don’t want to make Miss Margaery wait, Sir. She doesn’t like it.”

_Miss Margaery?_

Bloody hells! He is so fucked.

He should have known better.

The woman he just leered at is Margaery fucking Tyrell. Exhaling the air he didn’t know he has been holding, Robb-- abashed and consumed by a dreadful anxiety-- makes his way to the room she’d gracefully strutted into to find her sat on a couch, annoyance with a hint of arrogance riddled across her sculpted face.

“Miss Tyrell, if you would...I don’t believe we started off on the right foot--”

“State your business, _Mr Stark._ _I_ don’t believe we have time for pleasantries.”

This is certainly not what Robb had in mind when reaching out to the Tyrells for help. And who does this woman think she is? He is Robb Stark, no less than her. He controls the biggest region in the country and, thanks to Stark Corp., Westeros trades with Freeland and many Essosi countries as well.

“Would it be too bold of me to state that you know exactly why I’m here. I would like to extend a hand to your father, as a shareholder for Stark Corporation.”

A wicked smile twists her lips like a string of rouge licorice. “ _Extending a hand?_ Why, Mr Stark, do you grace us with this sweet share? Is it because your business is nearing its end? This is not you being nice, Mr Stark, this is you wanting to be saved.”

“Does the reason matter? I’m here, and I’m offering a piece of my business to you.”

“Was there ever really a choice? Besides Tywin Lannister and his corrupted bunch of pussycats, the Tyrells are the only ones left to save you.”

“Again, does it make a difference?” He pressed as he glared at her swollen pride.

Something within the young woman shifts, her eyes no longer holding the death beam she’d kept pointed between Robb’s eyes, and her voice fills, once again, with the drip of coquetry it had been saturated with some minutes ago. “No. You’re right. It really doesn’t.”

Robb is looking at her striking green eyes only to catch the cold barb of wistfulness, coiling around the stem of his mind. It is like a forgotten memory, caught between liveliness and accuracy, caught between the threads of his own memory as he yanks the film of vibrant animation from that obscure place within the wrinkles of forgetfulness.

 **_“Renly is a lucky man.”_ **His mother’s voice echoes within the enclosure of his skull.

 **_“Indeed.”_ ** Robb hears himself think.

In a slip of a second the sight of Margaery disappears. The woman whose voice still rang within his mind appears clothed in his mother’s shell, while the man who responded in concurrence to her admission shares a horrifying likeness to… himself. Robb is standing in the middle of what looks like a very large, low-lit tent while both clones converse at his front. Both wear clothes of a different time, time of battle, and a plane of divots scar his clone’s flesh. Their speech is one to envy, with polished words, and a thick burr he can recognize as his own; Northern Westerosi. They seem to harbor a looming grief peeking over each of their shoulder, and speak with a hint of sorrow over their shared regret.

“Are you serious?” Margaery’s voice brings him back from the bizarre thought that had consumed his world; she looks angry.

“What?” He is in awe by the spark of flame that glazes over the gloss of both her eyes. Robb can still smell the iron of his blood, crusted over the cavity-heavy armour the man had worn.

“You are one of those men. Well, I refuse to work with you. Whatever you want to discuss you can do it with my brothers when they are available. If they are ever available.”

“What are you talking about? Which men?”

She rolls her eyes. “From the moment you first laid eyes on me, you didn’t take me seriously, although I made it pretty clear who I am. You have the audacity to leer at me, as if I’m just an embellishment for this office. And when we were about to discuss business you ignored me. You and yours, the type of chauvinistic, arrogant, and hateful group of pigheaded men that think women are not capable of sustaining such important issues. I’m tired of sexists arses like you. So, have yourself a good day, Mr Stark.”

Robb can’t believe what he is hearing but he doesn't have time to reply because Margaery is already leaving the room. The leering part may be true and he feels awful for it, but he definitely doesn’t think a woman is not capable of sustaining important roles in business.

He quickly follows her and runs to catch the lift before the doors close. Her pretty green eyes roll and a little frown forms on her face. “Ms Tyrell, I’m so sorry. I never meant to be disrespectful. I don’t believe you’re incapable to hold your own. Please don’t take my absent mind as insult.” The woman only sighs heavily as a response.

“I was hoping to make you a proposition,” Robb continues.

“I knew that al-”

“Not the investment. I want you to come with me to Winterfell. My mother would love to meet you. In truth, she was the one who suggested this collaboration in the first place. She may not have an official position at Stark Corp, but believe me, she is behind most of its success. My father… he was kind-hearted, but he was horrible at business.”

Robb doesn't know whatever motive has prompt him to make such a haste proposition. He had not come visit the Tyrells with that objective. However, he feels the need to change Margaery's opinion on him, and to show her the wonderfulness the North has to offer.

Robb’s phone starts ringing, interrupting his train of thought, and with a quick glance at his screen, he sees Talisa’s bright face light up behind the glass. For a reason unbeknown to him, he curses the intrusion and the knowing glint in Miss Tyrell’s eyes, as well as the brow raise she gifts the uncomfortable situation.

He begrudgingly answers his phone, “Hey.”

The woman beside him smirks, face falling to hide her amusement.

“Uhm.. yeah. I can meet you there. K. See you.”

Margaery’s eyes shine with that brash delight, “Girlfriend?” The mocking in her voice is unmistakable. She is taunting him, and instead of feeling bothered by it, the mock feels more like playful banter between two friends.

“She’s just someone I’m seeing.” _Wrong answer, Stark._

She huffs, rolling her eyes at him. “Right, Mr Stark, whatever you say.” It is clear that the young woman is enjoying this; he realizes how good it feels to make her smile.

Robb moves past the topic of his would-be wife if it wasn’t for his mother, and reverts back to the previous issue, “So… Will you go to Winterfell, Miss Tyrell? I’m sure you’re brothers and father would appreciate it if you got to know the company with your own eyes, instead of just listening to what I have to say.”

Margaery’s demeanour changes from the all out amusement and mockery, to the now stern and collected look that plagues her face. “I’m sorry for your loss, Mr Stark. Here I am talking about nonsense when you’re mourning the loss of your father, as his passing was not so long ago. He was a great man, and I know this to be a fact as I had the privilege of meeting him, and he was very sweet towards me. When I say that I am sorry for your loss, I truly mean it.”

Not one person has made Robb feel so proud of his father, as Margaery Tyrell has done now. He can tell her words are honest by the heavy compassion that suffocates her eyes, as they stare up at him with a sorrowful gleam. It is the honesty by which her worry presents itself, unlike the rest of the people who approach him with pity as they gift their condolences.

“Thank you, I truly appreciate it. And, although I didn’t know you two had met, if my father had sweet words for you then it meant he believed you were worthy of them. He never said something he didn’t mean.”

Margaery gives him a dazzling smile as she accepts his invitation, “I will go to Winterfell with you, Mr Stark.”

Robb can’t help but return the gesture.

**************

Robb meets Talisa and tells her about Margaery Tyrell, though he lets out the part where he leered at her, thinks she’s gorgeous and basically begged her to go to Winterfell.

Talisa listens willingly and expresses she’s eager to meet Stark Corp’s possible saviour while pressing Robb about their plan to wed. The woman expresses the excitement she feels to finally meet all his siblings and to encounter the Stark matriarch once again.

Robb feels… happy.

**************

Margaery arrives at Winterfell when the first snow of the season falls. The world is pristine as the white, sparkling snow cover the grounds, and people sport their best winter clothes. Talisa has been mostly sick as she is not used to the cold of the North, coming from Volantis where the sun shines throughout the ages. And she has officially asked to stay North, not returning to Essos when her group does. Catelyn appreciates her, and his siblings think it nice that Robb finally has a girlfriend better than Jeyne, who crushed his heart back in uni.

But Robb is most entertained with Margaery as her looks declare her regal; the way she walks, talks, her elegant and graceful mannerisms. The young Tyrell looks amazing in her thick wool coat, though she plainly states her dislike for the cold of the North. However, she appreciates the beauty of his natal earth, and harbors the want to know Mother North better.

“Catelyn Stark,” the Reach girl needs not to be introduced to the older woman, and she states her senor’s name in greeting.

“Margaery Tyrell,” his mother greets, following the young woman’s gesture.

They look at each other, assessing the other to determine their worth, as time is of the essence. Robb and Talisa stand back to observe their warring exchange only to hear the sudden break of laughter that spill from both women. They come close to embrace one another like long lost friends. “Your reputation precedes you, Margaery,” Catelyn says with a smile.

“The same can be said about you, Mrs Stark.”

“I’ll have none of that, you can call me Cat, dear.”

Robb is astonished at the notion, for as long as he’s known Catelyn Stark, she’d only allow a certain few call her by that moniker. And the awkward push to Talisa’s position is felt by both as she is only allowed to reference his mother as “Mrs Stark”.

“Well then, you must call me Marge.”

Grey Wind enters the room right then and unhesitantly walks towards Margaery, circling her and nuzzling her in approval. Margaery quickly scratches the beast behind the ears while she murmurs sweet words to the wolf. “You must be Grey Wind. Look at you, looking so dashing.”

Robb cannot believe his eyes and wonders what does Margaery Tyrell have that even Grey Wind-- who usually is not fond of strangers-- seems to easily warm to her. He notices Talisa’s petrification; she has always feared the beast, given that every time he approaches, the sweetness and gentleness Robb knows he possesses completely vanishes. It surprises him more when Grey Wind decides not to return to him and instead chooses to sit next to the Tyrell girl.

Official conversations begin, and Margaery is pleased with the company. Of course there are a lot of things to do but nothing out of this world. Catelyn can’t stop commenting on how much Margaery knows, and the pride her family must have from her dazzling wit and sense of professionalism.

Talisa needs some rest so she decides to go back to the Stark residence to lay down.  Catelyn needs to go look for Arya and Sansa so she excuses herself too, leaving Margaery and Robb alone and thinking how great it would have been if Robb had met her earlier-- before getting the idea of marrying Talisa. She is a great girl, but Catelyn cannot see her as Robb’s wife. She also noticed the stares Robb gave the little rose, and they were more than friendly. Mrs. Stark dares to harbour hope.

As Margaery and he are left alone, next to the other’s strong presence, a fluttery feeling takes a hold within the pit of the young man’s stomach. Robb feels like a teenager on his first date once more, no longer the thirty-year-old man sat next to an equally professional woman. And he feels a fool as he notes Margaery’s confidence. He bet she could crush him anytime she dare felt like it.

Through his embarrassment, they discuss possible terms and conditions in order for the Tyrells to acquire some of Stark Corp. and, without noticing it, time flies and Margaery and Robb have spent hours together talking and talking. She is a remarkable woman, Robb realises, much more so than he could have ever imagined. She has an acute sense for business but she is also kind and understanding. She understands the business world like few men do and she is a visionary. She has great plans for her family’s company and it seems her parents, siblings and grandmother support her in everything she does.

 _With both Stark Corporation and Tyrell Enterprises together the Lannisters won’t stand a chance,_ Robb thinks with pleasure. Maybe selling part of Stark Corp is not so bad after all, and his mother had been right all along.

He suddenly feels dizzy as he listens to her speaking about the profits the Tyrells can help gain for his company.

 **_“It seems you have taken a shine to her already, inquiring about her and her deeds.”_ ** Robb listens to the woman clothed in the likeness of his mother say, and he wonders who they speak of, and so fervently. _What are these? Visions?_ He can no longer differentiate between reality and the falsehood of this world that surrounds him.

**_“Nonsense, Mother. I have only grown to understand the sensitivity of the matter. I understand that father would not appreciate such behaviour, as I do not appreciate my men tarnishing a Lady’s name.”_ **

_Whose name? What Lady? Why does he feel so angry all of a sudden?_ Whoever that lady is, she must surely be of great importance.

 ** _“I will make sure no one speaks ill of her ever again. The Lady deserves our respect.”_** Robb agrees with what his medieval clone decrees. No one should speak ill of _The Lady_ , or any woman.

“Robb!” Margaery shouts at him. “Are you even listening to me?”

Robb is startled, shaking his head in order to rid his mind of the stifling visions that infect his vision. _Was it something he’d seen before?_ Though, it feels more like a memory. “Sorry…” He takes a pause, looking up at the brunette as he realises Miss Tyrell has called him by his first name for the first time, “... Margaery.”

She gives him a suspicious look but does not appear affected by the use of her given name. “Are you okay? You seemed to be far away.”  

He stutters, not knowing how to begin to explain the vividness of that place. “Nothing, just... nothing.”

Margaery allows a hand to lie over the firm slope of his shoulder, reassurance shining through the glass of meadow green. “You sure?”

He feels the world revolving as his heart pounds within the cage of his ribs. Her hand radiates an eternal warmth that melts his heart, and her closeness gifts him the sweet smell of her perfume. She is a field of green, a wild rose of shimmering gold. Her hair is pure, soft silk when it brushes his face, and her eyes sparkle like the sun’s light atop an emerald sea.

He comes to a dreadful realization; _he has not thought of Talisa the whole time he has been with the golden rose of Highgarden._

“I’m sure.” Robb smiles, drawing a stunning twin from her lips, melting his heart with that one gesture. He puts his hand over hers and gives it a gentle squeeze in reassurance, in thanks.

Whatever it is he is seeing, it leaves him with an empty pit in his chest, causing him to believe that there is _something_ amiss.

**************

The three days Margaery planned on spending in Winterfell turn into a week, two, a month, two months, three months and then it is four months she’s stayed as a welcomed guest in their midst.

They continue discussing their work and related issues, caught up in the soaring heights of their visualization for the future of both their prospering companies. By now Robb knows all three Tyrell brothers via FaceTime; Willas, Garlan and Loras. All three are exceptional men who Robb has learned to respect, getting along quite well and in a very short time, even if he has yet to meet them in person.

Many evenings are spent at pubs having a beer, and a few words shared overtop the lip of his bottle. And it amuses him that the young woman appreciates her alcohol, finding that he loves that tiny rebel within her. It’s not often he encounters a woman who loves to drink as much as him, and for a southern flower to enjoy the selection of beer the north has to offer is a rarity in itself. Margaery chastises him constantly, saying he shouldn't be so affected by first appearances. She may be a southern girl, but she is no delicate rose. Roses may be beautiful but the blooming flower has its thorns, and she will thrive between the thickest weed if she so wishes.

His mother adores her to the point that she made Margaery leave the hotel she had booked to come and stay at the Stark residence. His siblings love her as well. Sansa has found in her the older sister she always dreamt of, while Arya can spend hours playing video games with her, Bran loves to talk to her about historical debates and political conspiracies, and little Rickon loves to eat the cupcakes Margaery bakes for him. In a weird way, it is as if Margaery has become part of the pack.

On one particularly sunny afternoon, while he’s enjoying a lunch break with his newest partner-- in a nice Meereenese restaurant-- a vision assaults him, triggered by the lush flicker of her curled lashes and the sonorous laugh she gives for a lame joke he’d tossed her way.

He can feel the steps that vibrate through his limbs as he enters the spacious tent he’s come to recognise. The night is dark, lit only by the heavy, yellow moon, and already, exhaust piles overtop his shoulders. His armour is tarnished, filled with so many holes caused by the wage of war that he fears it will become chainmail atop his chest, and his clothes are tatters covering his soul, his skin painted in the vibrant hue of blood, sour sweat and rich southern soil. Grey Wind-- the other Robb’s Grey Wind-- trails behind him looking just as tired with blood on his snout and his fur almost black.

The man bathes only with a partially clean rag and a washbowl, then lies in a bed of thick furs. He is tired, closing his eyes and somehow Robb can feel what he is feeling and imagine what he is imagining. He thinks of brown hair and eyes of sparkling olive-- which are oddly familiar to him-- and the man suffers at the sight yet relishes in it all together. Those bright eyes are his encouragement, they are his reason to continue with the hopeless war that lives just beyond the tent flaps. Robb yearns to yield his crown of melting icicles but the soft silky brown hair halts that train of thought. The image of her makes the pain less tortuous and, almost magically, it helps cure his wounds.

“Robb,” Margaery calls his attention, glancing at him with curiosity, “you’re doing it again.”

Robb is drawn back from his reverie, focusing on the _sparkling olive eyes_ before him. “Doing what again?”

“You stop talking, and just stare at me as if you were seeing a ghost.” She eyes him with a wondering glee in those vibrant orbs.

“Do I?” He blinks in hopes to rid the residual flashes of shared emotions from the very core of his eyes. “I’m sorry. I haven’t noticed.” He doesn’t mean to call forth the visions that afflict him.

“What’s on your mind?” She queries, the glee overshadowed by a gentle worry. “When that little crease appears between your brows, it tells of your concern.”

Robb is surprised by her statement, amused, “You know me that well?”

“I like to observe people. Makes it easier to do business…” Her words trail off as she strives to maintain the poise and perfection she seems so insistent on maintaining.

“And…” Robb pushes.

“Well, I’ve spent quite a lot of time with you. So, tell me.” Her eyes are honest and her voice alluring.

He chuckles as he thinks over the absurd notion of the visions he’s fabricated from a nonexistent past. “It’s stupid,” he proclaims.

But Margaery shakes her head, “Nothing Robb Stark thinks is stupid. Only stupid men think stupid things.”

Robb sighs, pondering whether he should risk embarrassment and trust that Margaery would not make him feel a fool for the way he’s learned to think. A tiny voice inside him grows incessant, pleading with him that he can; and that he is a moron for even hesitating to rely on the woman before him.  

“Do you believe in phantoms?” He blurts.

The woman blinks in astonishment, silent as a grave, allowing her fork to rest on their shared table as she pauses her eating to pay him her undivided attention.

He cringes at her unblinking stare, and tries again, “Of… past lives?” Robb concludes nervously. The man knows full well that what he asks makes him sound completely insane.

“Huh, interesting. Of all the things I thought you’d say, that was not amongst the options I had come up with. You’re a fascinating man, Robb Stark. It is not often a person can surprise me.”

Robb doesn’t know how to answer to such a flattering statement as he’s never considered himself an intriguing human being. But he takes it for the compliment it is, feeling a flush warm his cheeks, and a smile form on his lush lips.

“Now, about your inquiry….” she starts, “I have never given it much consideration, but I guess…” her eyes wandered thoughtfully over the top of his head, searching within her mind the answer to his wait. “I dare say that I do, in fact, love the idea of shared souls, past lives included. I don’t know if they are real, but I most certainly would like to believe that they are, and that we have been reborn a couple of times, leading different lives, meeting different people. And maybe, I would like to believe that I was a princess in a past life,” she chuckles adorably, a pink flush smearing the soft flesh of her cheeks.

He reckons she would have made the most beautiful princess, conquering the heart of every prince she dared cross paths with, having her own castle to run with that sweetness and astonishing wit she possesses. They spend the rest of day together, talking about souls and fate, though Robb does not dare to confess the phantoms that originated that form of belief. He fears she would think him a madman.

Their time shared is perfection, and pleasantly comfortable, until she mentions her ex-boyfriend. A young man named Joffrey, who has tirelessly called for her attention, wanting to see her. The crackling anger that consumes his mind, burning the bone that protects his heart is uncontainable, but Robb chills it with the welcoming embrace of the Northern cold, knowing very well he has no right to feel such uncontrolled rage. She does not belong to him, and Joffrey’s very existence proves that tale.

**************

He breathes, searching for his woman to console that burn of acid that bubbles within his gut, asking Talisa the same question only to have her laugh at him. “Robb, what are you, a fifteen-year-old girl? Of course I don’t believe in past lives. And there is no such thing as souls. We are composed of atoms and cells, organic material. Our brain is amazing, but those ideas about the soul are just nonsense.”

Robb tries to push the topic but Talisa’s warring opinion only leave him irritated, hurt. It was to be expected from a nurse to believe in the way she did, he understands and respects her opinion, but believes that she should have respected his. Their arguing leaves him bothered as it’s not the first time they differ on personal views, leading to catastrophic arguments. It is tiresome, the amount of time they spent on opposing sides, disagreeing on the tiniest of things. He wonders how they’re supposed to unite to form a family when they can’t even agree on the minor details that should make them an inseparable couple.

**************

Talisa works quickly with their wedding preparations, having everything almost finalised. His mother becomes an overplayed tune, telling and retelling her dislike for the speedy manner in which the young woman is moving. But Robb pays no mind to his mother’s words as he sees her dislike for what it truly is, an overprotective spell for her eldest child. In the same way, Grey Wind still keeps his distance from Talisa, avoiding her as much as he can. On some occasions, going as far as choosing to stay with Margaery in her room, instead of following his master to his.

Talisa is a fabulous woman, smart, kind, hardworking and they get along. That’s what a relationship is about, is it not? To get along and work hard to build a steady marriage.

Nevertheless, when he is alone in his bed, the images that flood his mind are not those of the woman he will wed, but of a certain Reach girl with green eyes filled with mischief, a head of curly brown hair that coil along her face, and a mind that soars beyond his range. He figures that the diluvium of thoughts his mind carries for Margaery is just his way of admiring the outstanding woman as he admires his mother, his sisters or some of his colleagues at work, nothing more.

**************

With Willas’ arrival at Winterfell comes the busy work of finalising the last details of their partnership, and change begins to take a hold of his company. For one brief second, Robb stops to take a break before continuing with his many tasks. _“You work yourself too hard, Robb. Stop trying to place the world over your shoulders.”_ How many times has Margaery told him that? It is hard to pinpoint the sum but he attempts to heed her caring words informing his secretary not to allow anyone in his office, locking himself in it, and serving himself a fresh glass of water.

**_“I hear nothing but praise for this Lady Margaery. Is it truly possible for a woman to be comely as well as clever?” The men boisterously parrot and laugh at such ludicrous thought._ **

Robb is not surprised by the flashing images that play like a film beneath his eyes anymore, allowing them free range. The other him sits upon a large chair, eyeing a large group of men and, suddenly, he feels a big hole forming in his stomach. _Lady Margaery?_

**_“Comely, most certainly, Your Grace. But clever… what woman truly is?” A tall broad man states with a deep husky voice, provoking only supporting reactions from the rest of the attendants._ **

Your Grace? What an odd way to address someone, let alone him. Robb doesn’t like the tone in his voice and apparently, the other Robb doesn’t either. He turns to look at the woman in the form of Robb’s mother and realises that she too is negatively affected by the japes of the men in the room. She has the same look the Catelyn he knows has when she thinks lowly of other people.

The men enjoying the feast play around with the lady’s name for the rest of it, Robb realises angrily. Grey Wind is vexed, showing his teeth to everybody who pronounces the very name and Robb thinks that is exactly what Grey Wind would do if someone ever dared speak ill of current Margaery Tyrell. He is surprised the large wolf does not actually attack anybody.

In an instant, everything falls into place and Robb can make sense of what he had been suspecting since the day he started having this weird visions. They are not visions, they’re memories, _his_ memories. Memories from a life he lived long ago, perhaps when white walkers still walked the world. This is him, undoubtedly, and that woman is his mother...

Margaery joked about being a princess, but she was not a princess, she was a Lady. An important one, or so he believes, taking into account the conversations he’s remembered. And he, _a king._  The thought bewilders him and finds it hard to believe

Abruptly, still looking at the scene, his heart flutters, his hands sweat, his whole body trembles, his head and stomach ache. The yearning, the pain, the lack of _something_. It was her.

 _It is her._ It has always been her; Margaery.

 ** _“I am told she is more impressive than her grandmother was in her youth, and just as cunning. Lady Olenna Tyrell was a true beauty, Son, and her cunning is admired throughout the realm. With guidance such as her grandmother by her side, the Lady Margaery is surely the most desirable woman in Westeros, and whoever she weds will certainly be a fortunate man.”_** The Robb in his memories yearns for Margaery as well. A Margaery he could’ve had but didn’t and Robb’s heart hurts as much as his past self does.

 **_It is too late for anything,_ ** The other Robb thinks and an overwhelming feeling of disappointment engulfs him. Rage comes next. Why is he standing there doing nothing? Why didn’t he ask for her hand? Why is he not riding full gallop to go meet her and make her his? Isn’t that what people back then did? He curses him, and by close affiliation, himself as he is impotent to change the course of events that unfold before him.

The ringing of a phone brings him back and he realises he has spent two hours locked in his office. He quickly answers but orders all his appointments to be rescheduled. He cares about everything but work right now. He _needs_ to go find Margaery, he _needs_ to see her. Something in him is determined not to let her go this time. She is about to leave Winterfell, she told him so last night, and he cannot let that happen.

The anxious hurry that pumps through his veins is detained by Talisa entrance into his office. Bloody hells, he had forgotten about her and for that, he feels guilty.

“Robb, what’s going on? You look as if you just ran a marathon. Remember I told you to always sit down and relax as much as you are capable. Have you been doing the breathing exercises I told you about?” Talisa has a way of asking things that makes Robb feel like a four-year-old. Can’t she just ask if he’s alright?

Another thing dawns on him. It is a day of revelations, apparently. “Nothing’s going on. I’m just stressed.” He stands up from his desk and sits on the office couch, beckoning Talisa to do the same.

“Listen, we need to talk.” He can’t go on with this farce and continue lying to himself.

“Oh, yes we do. I just hung up with our wedding planner. She says if we want the-”

“Talisa,” he interrupts her with determination.

Her brows crinkle in confusion. “What?”

Robb takes a deep breath before allowing the rush of words to leave his mouth, releasing the tight hold the lies have on his soul. Yes, his soul, Talisa’s opinion be damned. “I can’t marry you.”

Talisa’s brows furrow in anger, eyes glaring at the man who has just renounced their relationship. She raises her voice and moves her arms adamantly, as Robb lets her get it all out. He knows he is at fault for believing that getting married to a woman he had just met was a smart choice. And he is the only one to blame, for allowing her hope to soar beyond the sun. He feels like an utter prat as Talisa does not deserve this discourtesy.

“It was a rash decision.” He attempts to explain, as if that could lay rest the hurt he has created within her heart.

“No, it wasn't. It isn’t!” she exclaims.

“Talisa, I don’t know what else to say only that I can’t marry you. It doesn’t feel right. Maybe we can-”

“But, Robb!”

She deserves a chance. She is a great girl after all. The visions are just nonsense; foolish dreams his mind tricks him with.

“We can continue dating.”

The words come out of his lips before he has time to ruminate about that idea. The same voice he constantly hears inside him chastises him. Does he really want to date Talisa? No, he doesn’t. But his sense of honour makes him believe he can try. He can try and be happy with her.

_Margaery…_

She... No. Why is he even thinking about her?

_You know why, Robb Stark, do not pretend to be a fool._

_Isn’t that what everybody said about your father?_

_Honourable fool._

No. This can’t continue.

“I don't want that!” The Essosi girl bellows.

“And I don't want to get married!”

“Then this is it!” She says on a whim.

He stares at her, observes the anger pop and turn like kettlecorn. “Fine,” comes his weak acceptance.

The woman’s eyes open like perfectly round saucers, mouth agape and wordless. “What? Just like that?!” She questions in a beat.

“What do you want me to say? We want different things, Talisa. How can we continue our relationship when we don’t even want the same things?”

“I gave up the most important thing in my life for you!” Talisa threw in his face, her eyes bubbling with salty tears at the rage of his affliction.

It was a stab at his heart, pain filling the gap that began to scar, trapping the virus within his blood. But he couldn’t allow her to hurt him, she was talking through her anger, throwing any flint and dirt she could manage in order to wound him like he had done her. “I didn't ask you to. I would never even think of suggesting such thing to you, to give up your passion, for someone you had just met. It was a decision you made on your own.”

“It was for you!” She pointed her finger in fault, to the man that had finally found the courage to speak his truth, and she hated him for it.

Robb can only sigh in frustration. They have been bickering for an hour already.

“Dickhead.” She spatters.

“I know I am and I’m sorry.”

**_“Talisa Maegyr, Your Grace.”_ **

Robb finds himself remembering more of his past life. He is surprised to see Talisa standing in front of the other Robb, even more so to see him smiling at her.

**_Dark pools of endless black eyes find sky blue ones and time seems to stop for a moment. Grey Wind’s growls interrupt the spellbound moment, seemingly irritated at the beautiful woman of tan skin._ **

_Yes, listen to your best friend, Robb._

**_Robb throws a glare at his companion, silencing him completely._ **

_No!_ He is deeply frustrated and he can see Catelyn is not content with the encounter either.

**_“I love her, Mother.” Robb tells Catelyn._ **

And Robb can simply stare at his other self helplessly.

**_“You have given your word to Lord Frey. You ought to keep your promise, Robb.”_ **

So apparently he is promised to someone else and it is important, can’t he see that?

**_“I will marry Talisa,”  Robb declares with certainty._ **

**_“If you had to fall into a woman's arms, my son, why couldn't they have been Margaery Tyrell's?”_ **

Yes, why couldn’t they have been Margaery’s? Wait, what? Margaery Tyrell?

The other Catelyn looks wistful and speaks with regret. He can see his other self tensing and getting angry.

The other Robb cannot hear his mother, but she whispers something else.

 **_“The wealth and power of Highgarden could have made all the difference in the fighting yet to come.”_ **

Everything continues to make sense, little by little he connects the pieces of what he has remembered. His mother had not only been right in this life, but ever since a long time ago.

He understands now…

In another life, he didn't fight for Margaery _and married_ _Talisa…_

 ** _“I love her,”_** the other Robb insists like a child being denied a toy, and he cannot believe the level of foolery from his part. It was because of the proudful boast of love that he unbound an oath and led the North to a trap. He was a king who failed his people in order to sate the swell of foolish longing one has for things denied.

“Robb!” Talisa’s harsh yells yank the wandering Robb from the world of his past, and he finds that she has been talking nonstop.

He turns to glare at her, “What!” Robb demands.

“Now you’re ignoring me?!”

Shaking his head, Robb denies this fact, “I wasn’t-” But there is nothing he can say now to remedy the rift they had carved between the other.

“Oh, fuck you. You are a pain in the arse you know that? Have a happy life, Robb.” Without a second glance, Talisa opens the door and exits his office in a fume. But it is Robb that doesn't wish to leave things as they are now, he doesn’t wish for this abrupt and hurtful end he’s cut for the both of them, so he follows her out the door and sees, much to his chagrin, how she steps onto Margaery who is walking with Grey Wind by her side.

“What are you talking about, Talisa?” He hears Margaery say as his wolf bares his teeth to the brunette.

“Oh, I'm sure you have something to do with this!”

“With what?”

“Don't act innocent! You-”

“Do not finish that sentence, Talisa,” Robb sharply silences the demoralizing word he’s seen playing on her tongue. He won’t allow any disrespect, either with words or actions, to be thrown against the young Tyrell. Whether it was her lure, fate, or an irresistible sense of overprotectiveness, Robb would never allow such hate. “She has nothing to do with this.”

Talisa gifts the both of them the most bitter glare she could manage, and Robb can see how, as much as Margaery is restraining herself, a little smirk escapes her.

“I’m sorry, Talisa,” Robb remarks sincerely one last time.

“Sure you are,” she snarks and gets in the lift.

When Robb turns around to look for Margaery she is nowhere to be seen. Something tells him that is not good and he starts getting anxious, swallowing the lump in his throat. Grey Wind nuzzles him impatiently indicating to follow him. “I’m not in the mood for playing, boy.”

The wolf gives him a look he recognises from his visions. He is telling him how much of a twat he is so Robb admits defeat and follows his lead, thinking his wolf was right once before while he wasn’t.

He ends up at Stark Corp’s roof and, when he is about to chide Grey Wind for leading him nowhere, he notices the sweet smell of roses that lingers in the air and Robb knows Margaery must be around. Grey Wind butts him with his head to push the man forward, leaving soon after to look for a place to lounge as his task has been completed.

Robb decides to venture in and look for the woman that has been on his mind for the past months. He becomes anxious at not finding her, each second ticking by without permission, until he finally comes upon her form, sat on a little bench behind an electricity panel. _Odd; who put that there?_

“Robb,” the unexpected song of her voice startles him, but he answers it with a smile.

“How did you know it was me?” The question is absurd as he’s almost certain that it is she who has trained Grey Wind for such occasions. The young man comes close taking the empty spot next to her presence.

The smile that forms her lips leave him gushing, wanting to continue staring at her beautiful face, so long as that smile remained. “You have a particular way of walking, Mr. Stark, did you know that?” Robb enjoys the cocky mock she throws his way, “and a unique scent to you as well.”

“I hope it’s not too bad,” he jests.

She gives him an unamused glare, “It’s your cologne of wood and snow.”

He frowns playing at intolerance. “I didn’t know snow had a scent.”

Margaery titters. “It smells of you.”

Robb’s fluttering nerves cause a twinge of batting butterflies wings within his belly, and sweating to form within his hands. Only Margaery can make him feel this way, but he loves the vulnerability.

It is time to take action. He has waited long enough, quite literally, so Robb figures that going around the bush is pointless.

 _“_ Don't leave,” he states passionately.

She scowls. “What are you talking about?”

“I don’t want you to leave for Highgarden.”

“Does this have to do with Talisa? What happened by the way?” Margaery’s expression waging war on his mind, as he tried to determine the tune of her emotions. She doesn’t look surprised nor angry, rather... Calm?

“No, it has nothing to do with her. Just forget about her. I know, I already did.”

“Robb…” She starts saying and he can now see hesitation written on her face. “You were going to marr-”

“No. I was a fool.”

“But-”

“No, I won’t let you finish that sentence.”

She chuckles. “Alright, but-”

He grabs her hand before she can end her idea and makes his way out of the roof.

“Robb!” She yells trying to stop him but he won’t allow for her to have doubts. This time he will fight for her.

They get in the lift and he presses the parking floor button as Margaery continues to ask questions Robb refuses to answer.

When they reach his car, he hastily indicates her to get inside and he drives as fast as the damn traffic of Winterfell allows him to, finally stopping at one of the hotels his father managed not to lose with his kindhearted giveaways.

Robb immediately guides them to the presidential suite and, although Margaery has been parroting the whole way, she has never put resistance.

As soon as he closes the door, it is _her_ who assaults his lips with her own.

The kiss of her body against his own feel as what he imagines the heavens can feel like, soft, sweet and wonderful… The scent that is characteristically her own, wild roses blooming on a green-filled meadow invades his senses and he loses all ability to think. She is everything, _his_ everything. Her lips are divine and plump, her skin is warm and wrapped in silk, and her hair soft between his fingers. Her kisses are ardent, devouring him whole with the strength of her want, eventually assaulting his mouth with the blunt edge of her tongue, not allowing a request for permission to halt her entry.

Their tongues spar in a playful duel, an amicable and sweet game of battle that leaves Robb’s head swarming with the virus of bliss. He is certain to never having experienced the kind of euphoria that currently fogs his entire being. They separate out of a scratching need that allows their lungs breath, they hadn’t wanted to give up the kiss that united their souls as their tongues twined like the tie of string. And he sees her then, face flushed with a sea of red, panting, eyes shimmering with a handful of feelings Robb cannot all name. Her hair is a mess-- thanks to him-- and he is glad to have dishevelled the pristine image Margaery Tyrell shows the world. In front of him, there is only a playful, naughty girl grinning with a hungry lust that beckons his attention, but something else lures his eyes to hers.

“I thought you’d never had the courage to ask me out,” she whispers in between heavy breaths.

“Have I? I don't remember such a thing,” he jokes.

“Keep that attitude and I'm out of here.”

“No.” He panics. “No.” He reaches for her lips and kisses her once more. “Don’t leave.”

“I wasn't going to.” She expresses, cheekily smiling and putting her forehead on his.

He laughs at her mischievous nature relishing in every bit of their moment together.  

They don’t even care for the massive bed that’s left untouched and undisturbed by their selfish need for each other. At this moment they enjoy the string of kisses and lengthy contact, they enjoy each other’s presence as they have craved and been deprived of it for a long time. _Well, they have,_ thinks Robb.

“You have to tell me about Talisa.” Margaery demands during a breakage that allows their splitting lips rest. “Did you finish things with her? What does _this_ mean?” She asks looking down to them.

Robb smiles widely because the answers to those questions make him happy.  “Aye, I ended things with her and called off the wedding. _This…_ Well, this is me asking you not to leave, to give us a chance.”

Margaery smiles wholeheartedly, her eyes full of hope.

“But...” He recalls a detail from their previous conversations, “...what about Joffrey?”, he questions worriedly. They’ve met several times when he came to Winterfell, searching for his rose.

Margaery rolls her eyes. “If I don’t have to worry about a woman you almost married, you don’t have to worry about that… man.”

Robb chuckles at her irritation, “that bad?”

“Worse than you can imagine,” she says with a far-off look in her eye that disappears once she tips her head back, eyes of a juvenile, “now kiss me again,” she commands with a more than a tempting offer, one Robb obliges without hesitation.

“M, you came and changed my life. I’ve had this feeling, since the moment we met… I don’t even know how to explain it, all I know is that I want you. So much. I can’t bear the idea of losing you, I can’t bear the idea of you living miles away. Hells, if you say so, I’m willing to move to Highgarden, whatever it takes not to lose you.”

She laughs, hugging him tightly. “Easy, Young Wolf.” Robb laughs at the pet name. The press had come up with it, and he’s always hated the use of it but by Margaery’s lips it fits, it makes sense, and he likes her use of it. “You making rash decisions… It doesn't end well, remember?”

Robb knows she is correct, and he pouts as his way of admittance.

“I don’t want you moving anywhere, you have a lot to do around here. You are not letting Stark Corp alone.”

“But-”

“No buts… _I’ll_ stay with you.”

His heart thumps and his eyes open in wonder. “What?”

“You see, I had been looking for a place to call my own since a while ago. I love Highgarden, and I love my family, but I have always wanted to live somewhere else, discover something new to make it my own. And, suddenly, you came to my office and asked me to visit Winterfell. By the way, nice timing, Mr Stark,” she laughs. “And…”

“And…”

“And, well, let’s just say if you had not brought me here today, I would have made my move anyway. When Talisa confronted me in the hall today I wanted to feel bad, I really did. It’s a terrible thing when a relationship doesn't work out but… I would be lying if I said I was not glad. I wanted you for myself since first I saw you.”

“You are terrible, you know that?”

Margaery kisses his cheek softly. “I’m sorry,” she says with stark honesty. Though he has to admit he feels the same way, and if that makes her a bad person, then that makes him same as her, and right now he really doesn’t care about that, as long as they share breath.

“But you were angry at me,” he states suddenly remembering their first encounter.

“I was, but… wasn’t? Really, I just wanted you to take me right there, but you didn’t. And like the gentleman you are, you chose to ask forgiveness instead and followed me to the lift, causing me to like you even more.”

Robb doesn’t respond though the shared information leaves him a slightly bit astonished at her wickedness, instead he proceeds to kiss her neck, snaking his arms around her narrow waist to trap her full bosom against the plane of his chest. Her brute honesty and the feel of her plastered over his body, arousing in him lewdly thoughts, “I can take you right now,” he husks into her ear, evoking a moan from her part.

“Yes…” She’s swallowing her giggle, unable to voice anything else but her excited acceptance. Robb presses his bruised lips over the length of her neck, devouring and marking his newfound territory. In turn, Margaery scrapes his jaw with her perfectly styled nails, all the while her body moving to grind against his groin. They are too lost in each other to care about anything else right now. For all they know, the world could be collapsing and they wouldn’t worry about it. If they are meant to die, they will do it together, getting drunk off each other sweet kisses.

Their play of mouths is no longer enough, sparing with tongues and inhaling each other’s scent has only left them starving and in _need._ The amount of  layers that wrap their bodies and prevent them from touching, and truly feeling the life of the other beneath scratchy fabric, has become a death, and they yearn to remove the sentence. Margaery begins to unbutton his jacket, throwing it to the floor once she’s unhooked it from his arms and overplaying the motion with unnecessary strength. She then works on his belt anxious to liberate the bulge that’s now noticeable over his trousers. She doesn’t waste time, pulling them down along with his briefs, opening her eyes in wonderment at the angry cockhead atop the erected member that springs to freedom before her eyes.

She holds him with one hand, stroking the thick girth while her other hand skillfully unbuttons his shirt, revealing the curl of auburn chest hair she has been dreaming about for months. Robb growls at the ministrations, unable to help the roll of his eyes to the back of his head, his lash-heavy lids close. The man grabs on to the last thread of his composure in order to unzip the the side of her suit skirt with twitchy fingers.

Margaery caresses him wantonly, desperately trying to press their bodies into one living organism. Robb notes the familiarity he’s acquired with her body as it feels known, as if he had already touched the soft skin beneath his fingertips before, and he’s baffled, wondering how that is even possible. The curve of her body, the protruding  edge of her ribs, the swell of her breasts, they are like an old acquaintance to his fingers. He reasons the other Robb had memorized her silhouette even if he didn't get to meet Margaery. Just as she could cure his wounds, he could picture her perfectly. Magic is the word some use for that.

Margaery's moans are the sweetest melody he's ever heard. And he makes it his mission to never stop provoking such heavenly sounds ever again. Her body fits his as if she was sculpted with that particular purpose and, when he finally liberates her from the constriction of her clothing, he can only relish in the sight before him. Toned, fleshy legs and wide sensuous hips cloud his thoughts. He reckons he's never had a thing for legs before but it is impossible not to look at hers and feel indifferent.

Her thick thighs are a godsend and the swell of her calves match the wide radius of them in succulence. Robb can't help but knead the the soft, meaty flesh with aggressive hands, her skin scorching the tip of his fingers. After her skirt, her blouse is next. A floral piece that Robb needs to get out of the way to reveal the bosom underneath it.

Margaery’s eyes find him, the green pools becoming consumed by the deep black of her pupils. There is a hint of danger to that look in her eye and Robb understands right then what she’d meant when she had spoken of her thorns. If the current Margaery Tyrell is any indication of her past life, the other Margaery surely had been a cunning, clever, beautiful woman just as Catelyn had said. Once again, he curses the other Robb for being such a doubtful arse.

Robb takes off her blouse kissing every bit of Margaery’s chest, tickling her with his stubble.

“Robb…” She gasps. “You’re amazing.”

“You are too.” He says with his face buried between her breasts while his hands wander to her back to unclasp her bra. The warm flesh of her breasts fall heavy within his hold, and he kisses the soft tan skin at the peak, her nipples worshiped by his mouth as if precious stones. Margaery whispers his name and arches her back closing her legs in an attempt to alleviate a little of the need that engulfs her body, especially that sensitive area at her warm centre.

Robb is adamant to worship her body like he couldn't all those years ago, pressing his warm mouth to the extent of her flesh, heading south and paying attention to every inch of Margaery’s soft skin. All the while she purrs and trembles, her fingers messing his curls and her nails scratching his scalp, arousing him even further.

Robb’s kisses stop at the elastic of her underwear, his fingers tenderly plucking the stretchy band, pulling the fabric over strong legs, marvelling at the soft patch of brown hair that keeps guard of Margaery’s sweet pink folds. He caresses her mound, not fully believing he has it within his grasp and showers it with more gentle kisses. He holds onto her sharp waist, disallowing her the control she desperately wishes to conquer over him. “Margaery…” Her name is a prayer on his lips and he is certain it has always belonged to them.

She is a goddess allowing the simple mortal the taste of her paradise. In this life and in any other... He won’t ever let go of her; he vows this. His lips continue their travel to her thighs, noting the sticky wet lubrication that smears them, it is the sweet juices that leak from her cunt, so he licks, cleaning them.

Margaery tugs on his arms, standing him up, guiding his hands around her waist as she pushes her chin out to point at the lonely bed they have been neglecting. The young man can only smile at her silent command, sneaking his hands lower to grasp at her backside and lift her up in his arms. Her arms wrap around his neck, legs hooking around his waist, and she can only attack his neck with scorching kisses as he is so close. She wants to mark him too, to make him hers and Robb can only surrender to her will.

He places her on the bed and pins her, arms up and his leg between hers. A mischievous smirk appears on her lips as she places a playful kiss on his nose. “You called me M. I’ve never had anyone call me that.”

Robb blushes once he recalls the slip. “And what if I did?”

“You’re in a lot of trouble, Robb Stark.”

He gives her a wolfish grin trapping her mouth in another smouldering kiss as he grabs her left breast with his hand. Suddenly, bits of the memories he’s been having flood his mind as Margaery grinds her hips on his cock, coaxing him to penetrate her. The yearning and pain the other Robb suffered is something he doesn’t want to ever know. Tears threaten to spill from his eyes but Margaery’s touch and kisses prevent the shed of sadness.

“I need you now,” she states and Robb is relieved she is feeling the same as he is for he cannot spend another minute without making her his in the only way that’s left. He parts her tight with a gentle caress, gulping at the view of her swollen cunt shining with her juices and he positions himself while she continues to look at him with those sparkling olive eyes of hers.

In that moment, he silently thanks the gods for allowing them a chance in this life and prays to them to never part them again. _Please_.

He finally sheaths his throbbing member within her hold, her walls constricting around his shaft whilst a loud whimper escapes her lips. He is inside her but she is the one who completes him and makes him full. “Margaery…”

“Robb…” her legs cling to his thighs and her delicate hands dig deep into his arse cheek, beckoning him closer as he kisses her forehead, and thrusts his hips to slam against the cradle of hers. All he can hear is their ragged breaths syncing as if one, the clashing of their bodies, and their throaty moans. Robb knows this is only the beginning of a life together but he still holds on to her and kisses her as if it was the last time he would do so, imprinting on his memory every single moan and every single touch.

His thumb finds her pulsating nub to rub harsh circles, eliciting whimpers and screams that make his ears bleed. “Yes, yes… more.” His thrusts reinvigorate as he watches intently as this otherworldly woman starts to crumble between his hands.

He slams into her with such force that it feels as if he’s reaching the unreachable places within Margaery, and the incoherent words and trembles that leave her flooded with the high waves of her orgasm only reassure his efforts. Margaery is ransacked by the wild tempestuous storm of her release. Robb thrusts a couple of times more feeling his member quiver, air leave his lungs as he’s yelling Margaery’s name and filling her with his warm seed. He collapses over her not wanting to let go of her just yet, and he can feel her smirk forming underneath his neck.

“You’re good,” she says amused.

“Good?” He lifts his weight with his arms and faces her.

She places a hand over his stubbly cheek as the grin disappears and her big eyes return to their bright green colour. “Why do I feel this way, Robb Stark? Why do I feel as if I had been waiting for you for far longer than a couple months? Are you a sorcerer? A wizard? Have you bewitched me?”

Robb takes her hand with one of his and kisses it with love. Yes, _love_ . There is no other way to describe it. That, _this_ is love. To talk to a person without realising if time has stopped or actually advanced a million years. To share things in common yet at the same time be so different you never run out of things to say. To get along with that person and the family she loves. To… share a bond so intimate that sex is beyond a physical act of pleasure.

“If there is someone magical around here, it’s you.” He silences his true thoughts; the memories he possesses. He doesn’t want to make her angry or sad by telling her the coward he was in another life, the stupidest of men who let her slip between his fingers.

He finally pulls out and rolls off her, laying his head over a pillow and staring at the ceiling. For her part, Margaery lays on her side holding her head with her arm as she stares at him; both still panting, sweating and flushed. She doesn’t care for either of their nudities and Robb, generally a prude given his northern upbringing, decides nothing can bother him less right now than their exposed bodies.

A dim lit room, various guests, a particular melody sounding on the background. Robb can see the other Robb enjoying the evening until something feels odd and he starts panicking. The other Robb is unaware of everything and he just wants to slap him and make him see he is about to be ambushed.

Suddenly, a group of men attack.

Robb sees how Catelyn, Grey Wind and Talisa are butchered and once again regret invades his body for he knows Robb could have avoided such dire consequences had he only searched for Margaery when he could. It is enraging to see Freys, Lannisters and Boltons were as low then as they are now.

Lord Bolton approaches Robb and digs a dagger in between his ribs. Robb sees then the other Robb is thinking about _her_ and it pains him terribly to know that his lasts thoughts were those of a love that could have been but didn’t.

**Golden roses blooming between the snow, curly brown hair and mischievous eyes are the last impressions that engulf the young king before falling to the ground in defeat.**

**_Margaery._ **

Tears threaten to spill again when Margaery’s arms bring him back to the present and he strongly embraces her as if she could vanish any moment. He cannot let her go, not now, not ever. He finally has the golden bud of a rose, blooming between his arms as he should have all those years ago.

“What is it? You look scared.” She says. “You were gone again. I don’t like it when you’re gone. I want you here, with me.”

The thought of not having met Margaery is excruciating. That's his biggest regret. It will be his biggest regret forever. So much blood, so much pain, so much loss. He won’t ever allow it. He may not rule a kingdom in name, but Starks rule the North still and he will do what’s best for it and for himself. Margaery is what's best for both and losing her is a thing he cannot dare imagine.

He shakes his head reassuringly. “I found you,” he simply replies.

“What?” Margaery asks confused.

“It took me forever but I did.”

“Robb, what in the world are you talking about?”

“Nothing, just… I’m happy I didn’t make the mistake of marrying someone out of courtesy, and that I found something real instead.”

Margaery is not convinced by his words but drops the subject, instead kissing his forehead, temples, cheeks, jaw, nose and finally his lips.

“Robb, I think I’m falling for you.”

Robb lets out a low laugh. “I already did.”

_Up in the heavens, the gods are happy to see the rose and the wolf have finally met and are prepared to build a life together. Only good things can come after._

_Answering Robb’s prayers, they decide not to bother them further for one life apart has been enough. The Young Wolf and the Rose of Highgarden deserve all the rest together._

**Author's Note:**

> Did you like? Did you not? Do we agree Margaery is the best? Are we certain Robbaery should've happened and it’s a shame George only gifted us with a Catelyn Stark quote?! Please do tell me!  
> Love you all beautiful people! Baby Margaerys and baby Robbs to you all!!
> 
> P.S. Miss Mim, my darling, I love you so much. Just wanted to say that once more. <3 Happy birthday! I hope you’re having a great day with your loved ones! I send you the biggest bear hug from Seoul!


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